Chapter 2

	The rain was pelting down in torrents as Ty McKinley maneuvered his motorcycle
through the narrow streets of the little town of Silverside.  He’d thrown the visor of his
helmet up to be able to see better, but he still had to contend with the water spraying into
his eyes and running down his face.  In the dark his headlight barely penetrated the
heavy rain, and he was thankful for the street lights.  Even his leather jacket wasn’t
much defense against this downpour, and if he didn’t find a place to stay pretty damn
quick, he figured he’d probably drown.
	The slippery road played havoc with the bike.  As he took the next corner he felt
the drenching spray of water splash up at him from the puddle that had formed directly
under the streetlamp, and the wheels nearly slid out from under him.  One more lake like
that to drive through, and the mighty machine would likely take on a mind of its own.  He
grumbled under his breath and tried to make some sense out of his surroundings, then
pulled the motorcycle into a driveway, threw down the kickstand and easily climbed off
and strode towards the house.
	There were a few lights on inside, which was comforting, he thought, and the
front porch was sheltered with a roof so even if he didn’t manage to get himself invited in
he would at least be out of the rain while he tried.  Pulling off his helmet he tucked it
casually under his arm as he stepped under the overhang, shook his head and ran his
fingers loosely through his jet black hair -- the only part of him that was still dry.  
	After what seemed like forever,  during which time he rang the doorbell three
times and knocked twice, he heard movement on the other side of the door. When at
last the door opened, he was leaning with one elbow against the wall and his arm across
his forehead, and his other arm wrapped casually around his helmet, and one foot
crossed over the other with the toes resting on the porch floor.  Water dripped from his
black leather jacket, which he had opened about half way to reveal a black T-shirt,  and
the black of his jeans was accentuated by the fact that they were soaking wet.  Together
with his thick black hair and tanned skin, he made for quite a dramatic sight against the
backdrop of the inky darkness outside.
	The reaction his appearance caused was displayed plainly across Sandy
Johnson’s face, when she opened the door and visibly faltered.  Dressed in old track
pants and a sweatshirt that looked almost as wet as he was, she had her dark blonde
hair gathered haphazardly onto her head with several strands doing their own thing, and
one rather stubborn looking one trailing across her face, a face that was smudged with
some kind of grease or dirt in several places. In her hand was a wet rag, and another dry
one hung over her shoulder. 
	Since she was in the process of brushing the straggling lock of hair from her face
when she opened the door, the first thing she saw was his crossed leather boots, and
her eyes trailed slowly upwards until she found herself staring wide-eyed into his face. 
He was sure he heard a catch in her breath over the pounding of the rain above his
head, and when he shot her a bright smile that had been known to knock more than a
few women to their knees, her eyes widened even more.
	“Oh!” she said, although the word was barely audible, and when he straightened
to his full height she seemed to visibly stiffen and he thought the door seemed to move
ever-so-slightly closer to him again. 
	“Miss Johnson?” He asked, tipping his head slightly in greeting and keeping his
deep voice as calm and comforting as he could.  She nodded, and her eyes narrowed
slightly, clearly feeling at a disadvantage that he knew her name and she had no idea
who on earth he was.  He held his hand out to her and his smile grew even wider.  “My
name is Ty McKinley.  The old lady at the hardware store said I would find you here.”
	Sandy looked at the hand, but kept her own firmly on the door handle, while her
other hand clutched tighter at the rag she held.  She shuffled uncomfortably, and
ignored his outstretched hand, and lifted her eyes back to his face. 
	“Mrs. Witherspoon?” She said, cautiously, wondering why Mrs. Witherspoon
would have directed this stranger to her house.
	“Yeah, that’s her.” he said, with a slight nod, remembering that the name on the
storefront was Witherspoon’s Hardware. Casually he glanced past the woman into the
house.  In the four days he had been in Silverside he had seen her at the hardware
store every day. After that first day when she had apparently had a kitchen faucet to fix,
she had returned for supplies for all manner of things, ranging from a toilet float to
window glass.  He had noticed each time how intently she had listened to the directions
given to her by the kind old man who served her, and how heavily burdened she looked
when she usually also had to purchase a tool to complete her task.  Clearly, she was
treading in unfamiliar territory, and though Ty admired her for trying so gallantly, he was
also hoping to take advantage of her inexperience. He needed a job.
	“I happened to ask her if she knew of anyone who might be needing handyman
services around town. She said you might have a few jobs that need taking care of?”
	Understanding dawned on the girl’s face, followed by what he was surprised to
see looked like amusement, then the firmness set in once again. “I see.  I’m sorry Mr.
McKinley, Mrs. Witherspoon was mistaken.  I’m managing just fine on my own.  I am
really sorry she sent you all the way over here in...”  She glanced outside as if noticing
the weather for the first time.  “... in the pouring rain.”
	The door moved towards him a bit more, as if he was being dismissed, and he
straightened.  “Are you sure there isn’t anything I could do around here? The place looks
like it could use quite a bit of work.”  A lot of work, as a matter of fact. He’d been here
before, earlier in the day when the sun had been shining.  He’d noticed the weak
floorboards on the porch as he had turned to leave after finding her not home, and it
wasn’t hard to see that the place could use a good scraping and painting.  He’d even
taken a walk around the back and from there he could see well enough to judge that the
roof was badly in need of some repairs.
	Sandy shook her head and stood her ground. “No, thank you, I’m just fine.” She
gave him her most polite smile, accentuated by a slight nod of her head and a defiant
swipe at the lock of hair that continued to hang in front of her face. Ty set his jaw and
took another approach.
	“I’ll work cheap.” he said hopefully, one brow raised.  He was an observant  man
who seldom missed a thing, and he hadn’t missed the look of consternation on her face
each time she had asked old Mr. Witherspoon if he was absolutely certain she was
getting the least expensive part for the job she needed to do.  From the looks of the
house, and the sparsely furnished room he could see behind her through the open
doorway, cost may well be an issue he could use in his favour.  And from the look of
hesitation that crossed her face as she pondered him a little more closely, he thought,
he may have just hit a nerve.
	“How cheap?” she asked, after a long pause, during which she chewed slightly
on her lower lip, just the way he had seen her do at the hardware store when she didn’t
know anyone but Witherspoon was looking.  
	He looked thoughtfully out over the blackness that shrouded the world, through
the downpour that sheeted off the roof of her front porch, which, he made a mental note,
could do with some eaves troughs.  “At the moment, Ma’am, I’d consider working for
cost -- plus room and board.”
	“Oh?” she said, as if the idea startled her a little, then “Oh, damn!” as if it
positively annoyed her. 
	Taken aback by her reaction, Ty turned to face her again, and realized that her
words hadn’t been in response to his proposition at all.  Inside the house behind her,
where moments before he had been able to see part of the front room, everything was
in total darkness.  With a quick glance back towards the street and a scan across the
few other houses nearby it was clear to him that the problem was only with her house.  It
was also clear that frustration was beginning to get the better of her. 
	“Got a flashlight?” he asked, and was met with a disconcerted look. 
	“I have one, but I’m not sure where it is. Not everything is unpacked yet.”
	“Candles?”
	“Yes, if I can find them in the dark.”
	Without a word he handed his motorcycle helmet to her and disappeared off the
porch into the downpour.  Startled, Sandy squinted into the darkness but couldn’t see a
thing for a few minutes, then a round circle of bright light preceded him back into view
and he appeared with a sturdy looking torch light. 
	“May I?” He asked, waving his light towards the inside.  Since he knew he was
still firmly relegated to the exterior of the house, he wasn’t about to step inside without an
invitation.  She shuffled a bit, looked a little nervously towards the inside, then back at
him, and stepped aside. 
	“Alright.” she said simply, turning away from the door.  “If I can find my light then
I’ll be able to hunt up the candles.  Do you --” she looked at him with that lower lip caught
between her teeth again. “-- do you know your way around a fuse box?”
	“Yes, Ma’am,” he said,  accentuating this affirmation with a bright smile.  Sandy
cleared her throat and looked away. 
	“Good.”  
	She motioned for him to follow her into the house, asked him to aim his light at a
few cupboards and drawers in the kitchen, then finally, triumphantly produced a small
flashlight.  When she turned it on, it produced a very small beam of yellow light. She
needed both batteries and a better light, he noted to himself,  but for the moment she
seemed relieved with what she had and clearly more comfortable with having some
control over her situation again.  At the basement door she watched as he tentatively
shone his much stronger light down the stairs. 
	“The electrical box is to the left at the bottom of the stairs.” she stated, looking a
little concerned. 
	“Right,” he nodded, and then proceeded to remove his leather jacket and hang it
on the door handle.  Underneath, he wore a tight black T-shirt that spread across his
sculpted chest and showed off his tanned and well developed arms.  Sandy couldn’t
help but think that he must spend a lot of time outdoors, and work out a lot, before she
reminded herself that the last thing she needed to do was get herself interested in a
man.  Life was going along just fine, and she intended to keep it that way.   She quickly
returned her attention to the dark cellar as Ty began to manoeuvre the rickety stairs into
the darkness.
	“Found it,” he called a short while later, and Sandy sighed, realizing she had
been holding her breath.
	“Good. I’ll see if I can find some candles,” she called back down the stairs.
	By the time he returned she had indeed found several candles, and had them lit
throughout the kitchen and front room.  When she heard him on the stairs she turned a
questioning glance his way and was met with a frown and slight shake of his head. 
	“The fuse box looks fine. It must be something outside. Maybe the storm
knocked something out.  I can have a better look at things in the morning if you like?”
His voice held just a hint of hope, and was met with her heavy sigh.  “Oh -- yeah -- and
you have a fair bit of water in your basement too.” He heard her groan and continued. “It
seems to be coming in from just one corner. I moved a couple of those boxes out of the
way so nothing should get damaged tonight if it doesn’t get any worse.” 
	Her groan was more audible this time, and her shoulders visibly drooped. “That’s
not the only place there’s water.” 
	He looked at her questioningly, and when she turned back to face him with  that
distraught look in her eyes he suddenly felt the urge to help her for her, not just for his
own need of a job and a place to stay.  She picked up the wet rag she had set down on
the kitchen counter and held it up. 
	“The roof leaks.  I was mopping up upstairs and placing buckets under the drips
when I heard you knocking through the heavy rain.”	
	“Oh. I rang the bell first,” he said in an appologetic voice.
	She shook her head. “The doorbell doesn’t work.”
	“Oh,” he repeated.  He paused, and looked at her, contemplating whether he
should say any more, then cautiously spoke again with eyebrows raised hopefully.  “I
can fix that.” he offered.
	“In the morning,” she said, almost without thinking, in a tone of voice that
punctuated the hopelessness of her situation.  She sighed, exasperated,  and as if
dismissing him from her thoughts completely she took her flashlight and rummaged
through a few of the low cupboards in the kitchen.  Her search eventually produced a
couple of large steel mixing bowls and without a word, she swept past him out of the
kitchen.
	“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?” she asked bluntly.
	“No, Ma’am,” he shook his head.  
	“Figures,” she grunted under her breath. She shot an abstract look towards the
large front window through which,  in the darkness nothing could be seen at all. “I have
five bedrooms in this old house, but only one bed.  I’ll get some blankets and you can
sleep on the couch for tonight.  Tomorrow I’ll think about things more clearly and decide
what to do.” She was half way up the stairs when she turned back and looked at him
pointedly. “And don’t come upstairs, understand?”
	Ty stood in the darkness and watched thoughtfully as she disappeared up the
stairs, rag and bowls in one hand, flashlight and candles in the other.  He had no idea
why she insisted on being so independent, but in the short time he had been in the
house he had seen an incredible amount of work that needed to be done.  He was
willing to make a guess that, although she may well be a very capable woman, she
wouldn’t be able to do much of it herself.  He was also pretty certain that she  probably
couldn’t afford to hire qualified tradesmen to do all the work for her.  He had no idea
what she did for a living, but each time he had seen her at Witherspoon’s she had
always looked especially concerned about the cost of things, not to mention the fact that
there obviously wasn’t much furniture in the house, and what she did have was old, and
likely someone else’s rejects. 
	He turned and took a good look around the room he was standing in.  The
curtains on the large front window looked as if they had probably belonged to the original
owners of the house.  The large couch that was placed in front of the window, with the 
matching chair against the side wall also looked like they had already had a good life .
There was a large wooden crate with a television on it, a couple of miss-matched end
tables with lamps on them,  and a coffee table that didn’t match any of the other ones
either.  She had placed several low candles around the room in various locations, and
their flickering light gave a soft glow to the room that he found oddly comforting.  With
another glance towards the stairs he sighed, then turned off his flashlight and tossed it
on the couch before bending to remove his boots. 
	As he stood perched on one foot he heard the distinctive sound of one of her
metal bowls crashing and rumbling across the floor, followed by a muffled exclamation. 
He paused and stood back on two feet, listening closely. Seconds later more clanging
was heard, and this time a thud, and a bang, and a much louder cry.  Without hesitation
Ty grabbed his light again and, taking the steps two at a time, sprang up the stairs and
headed down the hall towards the sound of her muttering that was filtering through an
open doorway.
	“Miss Johnson?” he called, as he neared the doorway. “Ma’am? Are you alright?” 
	Inside the empty bedroom he was met by the sight of his reluctant hostess
sprawled on the floor, illuminated in the beam of his flashlight. Behind her was a box,
that was tipped over on its side with a clutter of objects spilling out onto the floor, and in
front of her the two metal mixing bowls, one face up, one upside down  Her flashlight lay
a few feet away, in darkness.  The floor around her was wet, and so was she, and from
somewhere up above a steady stream of water splashed down on her head.  For a few
seconds, as he stood there looking at her, she didn’t move. Then she slowly lifted her
head and groaned.
	“Damn box!” she muttered under her breath.
	He let out his breath and took a step closer to her, bending down on one knee at
her side as she began to lift herself up. “Are you alright?” he repeated.
	“I tripped over that stupid box,”  she said, by way of trying to explain the incident. 
	He picked up her light and tried the switch. Nothing happened. He shook it, and
still nothing happened. “You probably blew the bulb on this.” he said, and heard her sigh.
She rolled out of the direct path of the roof leak, swept the hair back from her face and
wiped her forehead with her arm, before attempting to stand up. Ty held out his hand to
help her as she struggled, but she ignored his offer until her face wrinkled in a wince of
pain and she eased off of one foot. 
	“Damn!” she swore again, and finally accepted his hand.  He gripped her arm
tightly and reached behind her with his other hand to steady her as she struggled up
onto her feet.  After another attempt to stand on both feet, she ended up leaning against
him with his arm wrapped tightly around her. 
	“Let’s get you somewhere where you can sit down, shall we,” he said, and
without objection this time, she nodded. 
	“My bedroom is the first door on the other side of the hall,” she said, as he helped
her, limping, towards the hallway.  She clung to him for support until at last he kicked
open the door to her bedroom and helped her to the bed in the flickering light of a candle
she had obviously lit earlier.   Once she was sitting on the bed she brought her left foot
up onto her other knee and stripped off her sock.  Immediately Ty knelt beside her and
moved his large hands into position to examine her ankle. 
	“May I?” he hesitated, before touching her, and she shrugged and waved her
hand a frustrated gesture of acceptance.  He carefully pressed all around her ankle as
she watched his large hand moving on her leg.  “It doesn’t seem to be broken,” he said
thoughtfully, and Sandy nodded.
	“I’ve sprained it, I imagine.  I’ll be OK in the morning.” But her words sounded
more hopeful than confident.  He lifted his head to look at her and for the first time since
he’d arrived, their eyes met and stayed locked for several seconds while his hands
remained motionless on her bare ankle . When she blinked and looked away he cleared
his throat and dropped his hands. 
	“Right,” he said. “You need to get this foot up on the bed and get some rest. You
should probably put some ice on it, if you have any?” 
	“What are you, a doctor and a handyman?” she asked wryly.
	He chuckled. “No, Ma’am.  I just have my industrial first aid.” 
	Sandy raised her brow at him questioningly, but when he did not venture to
elaborate, she explained where to find things in her kitchen and he headed off back
downstairs.   Several minutes later he returned with a few ice cubes in a sealed
sandwich  bag wrapped in a dish towel.  While he’d been gone, Sandy had struggled out
of her wet track pants and shirt  and was sitting propped up against two pillows on the
bed with the blankets turned back and her legs up, wearing a soft pink sleeveless
nightgown.  As he entered the room she was running a brush through her shoulder
length blonde hair, and he stopped at the doorway to take in the sight of her.  
	When he’d first seen her he had known she was a decent looking woman, but
now, in the soft glow of the candle, with her hair falling around her shoulders she looked
positively angelic.  She lifted her face to look at him and he instantly moved farther into
the room, shaking his thoughts to the back of his mind.
	Leave her alone, Ty, it’s women that helped to get you in this mess in the first
place.  Just keep your head straight.  She’s just someone who has a house that just
might be your next meal ticket, that’s all.
	“Thanks,” she said, as he adjusted the bag of ice on her already swelling ankle. 
He nodded silently, then straightened and looked around the room with a cough.
	“Just let me know where I can find those blankets you offered me, and I’ll be on
my way back downstairs.” 
	“Oh yeah, that’s right,” she said.  “I thought I told you not to come upstairs,
McKinley.”  He turned back to look at her, mouth open about to plead his case, when he
realized she was smiling and there was laughter reflecting in her eyes in the candlelight. 
	“Yeah, right,” he grinned, and nodded. “Sorry about that.” 
	“Well, just mind it doesn’t happen again!” she said sternly, but the laughter
wouldn’t stay out of her voice. 
	“Yes Ma’am,” he said with a grin and a nod.
	She rolled her eyes.  “Alright, enough of the Ma’am already!  And Miss Johnson
is my sister, the school teacher.   My name is Sandra -- call me Sandy, everybody does. 
You’ll find the blankets and a pillow in the closet directly across the hall.  Now go.”  She
waved towards the door, and he nodded and prepared to leave.  At the doorway he
looked back as she reached for her own blankets and pulled them up over her, leaving
her iced ankle exposed.  She rested her head back against her pillow, eyes closed, and
sighed.
	“Good night, Sandy,” he said softly, then he was gone.